And I don't want to write a dumb paper on my b-day.

I swear, someone's going to end up documenting me by the end of the night, what with all the hyena-esque laughter I'm throwing off between the "gum would be perfection" inner monologue and Tiffani's spouting about me being 100 years younger than good ol' Harry S.

Sheesh. And I thought I was in trouble when I was eating candy necklaces and yelling out my window to the lovely people in the courtyard.